


Like to Like

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Double Penetration, M/M, Self-cest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dean/dean/cas threesome, pwp, double penetration. endverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like to Like

ruth be told, he hadn’t been all that surprised that Castiel – this thin, smiling version of him – had kissed him. This Castiel was all hands, all swagger, pulling Dean against him, pulling him eagerly into his cabin when Dean responded in kind. He dragged his hands all over Dean’s body, fingers slipping beneath the layers of his clothes, behind his jacket, under his shirt. All the while, grinning, muttering compliments under his breath. “I remember you like this,” he said softly, face warped with a grin, and Dean had only had it in him to nod, to pull him close again and kiss him fiercely, breath halting, shallow.

But he’d left then, too worried about what it would mean for himself to go back, having done it. Another day passed, Castiel slanting wry, smug glances at him whenever he could; and then he found himself here – at the threshold to Castiel’s cabin, the door swung wide open, looking for him, wanting to ask for it – and watched the other version of himself sit astride Cas’ hips, Cas’ fingers clenched hard around his ass, Cas’ dick pushing in and out of him, fast.

Cas knew he was there immediately and stopped moving; the Dean atop him grunted, then turned when Castiel lazily lifted his head to look at the Dean in the doorway.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” he mumbled, grinning, and when he drew his hands from the other Dean’s ass to slide them up and down his back, he left red marks behind that looked like they might bruise. Dean stared at them, flushed with heat and shame. “Are you okay?”

Dean was finding it hard to concentrate; he couldn’t stop looking at the curve of the other Dean’s back, how sweat pooled in the dips either side of his spine, how Cas’ dick fit inside him, disappearing beyond his flesh. “Fine,” he mumbled, clinging to the doorframe, trying to drag himself away.

Cas laughed, eyes raking over his face with painful, amused scrutiny. “Do you want to come in?” he said, and the Dean on top of him made a soft, irritated noise, shifting his hips.

“Be quick,” he muttered, and Dean faltered at the door.

“I should go.”

Cas laughed, and leaned up on one of his forearms. He slid his palm further up the other Dean’s back, resting a hand on his shoulder, pulling him down to speak close to him, eyes flickering from one Dean to the other. Dean couldn’t quite make out the words; he was too busy looking at them anyway, the other Dean leaning down close to Cas’ face, Cas still buried inside him, slipping out a little as Dean dipped his body, conspiratorial. They were so in sync it was a little unbelievable; the other Dean mumbled something, wheedling, seductive, and Cas curved a hand around his shoulder, up to his neck – his dick slipped out of him entirely and he huffed a laugh as he bent the other Dean’s head for a kiss.

Drawing away from the other Dean’s mouth, Cas looked back at Dean. “He thinks he can take both of us,” he said, lips twisted in a smile around the words, and something in Dean’s belly clenched and surged, white-hot. “Do you want to?”

He swallowed, wavering, and the other Dean turned to him again. “I’ve done it before,” he said, by way of encouragement, though his voice was soaked in irritation. “Couple of times,” he clarified, and Dean wondered what it was like – to be so full, split wide by not one person, but  _two,_ inside him. He’d never even considered the possibility before; he wondered who their third was, the other times.

He thought blindly that he should leave. “Okay,” he blurted, despite himself, and realised as he stumbled into the room that he was so hard it’s a wonder no one laughed at his hesitance. He got to the bed – so close he could feel the heat coming off them, see that the other Dean was pressing his ass back against Cas’ cock, a soft roll, presumably to keep him engaged. Cas looked blissed out, dreamlike, and when Dean got closer he lifted his hand and clasped Dean’s own with it.

“You don’t have to,” he said, soft and forgiving, as if Dean was a fumbling teenager, trying to play games beyond his understanding.

He wanted to. He probably shouldn’t have – it was possibly the most fucked up method of masturbation he’d ever tried, and honestly he’d tried a good few things – but passing up the chance to  _literally_ go fuck himself seemed like a wasted opportunity. The fact that Cas would be there too – inside him, beside him, all at once – was also a bonus.

He nodded before he had a chance to lose his nerve, and let go of Cas’ hand so he could strip off his jacket and shirt, fumbling with his jeans, going red under their waiting gazes, and looking up just in time to see the other Dean rise up in Cas’ lap, resituating Cas’ dick inside him, circling his hips just barely. Cas, beneath him, made a long, low, indulgent noise, hands skittering up the other Dean’s ribcage, eyelids flickering closed. Then he murmured, “Dean, come  _on,”_ and fumbled a hand out to grasp Dean’s wrist and pull him onto the bed as he kicked his jeans away.

He kneeled there, close, naked, watching them move; the other Dean was slow, practised, rising up just a little and then pushing down again, not fucking him in earnest like he had been before. Cas made sounds like Dean had only heard him make in dreams.

Cas looked at him from where he lay back against the mattress and took his hand again, careful, guiding it between the other Dean’s legs, so he could feel where Cas was pushing slowly in and out of him, barely moving at all. His fingers fumbled against the other Dean’s stretched rim, and it was hard to think of it as his own; it was slippery, slick with lube, wet, and so warm he could barely believe it. Another sucker-punch of arousal shot through him when he felt it; Cas was big, filling him up, and with his hand beneath them, Cas’ fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, he could feel every shift of their bodies; each twitch the other Dean made as he prepared to move.

Cas pushed on his wrist, encouraging, and Dean looked at him for confirmation, catching his nod before he slid a finger, dry, inside the other Dean, alongside Cas’ dick. He shuffled closer on his knees so he was kneeling beside the Cas’ lifted thighs, then withdrew his finger again, making the Dean above him grunt softly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, flushing, his whole body on fire. Cas just laughed – Dean didn’t dare look at the other Dean’s expression. Walking on his knees, he crawled around so he could position himself behind them, between Cas’ spread legs. The movement of the other Dean’s back – scarred with wounds Dean himself hadn’t even felt yet – was mystifying, muscles rolling, shoulderblades shifting underneath his skin. He woke from his thrall when Cas nudged a bottle of lube towards him with his foot; picked it up, and squeezed a generous amount of the cold liquid onto his left hand, finding this, at least, to be familiar.

He shuffled closer to the other Dean’s back and watched, enraptured, the shift of the other Dean’s back when he slid his hand between his legs again, and slipped his finger inside. The other Dean hissed above him, pushing down onto the digit, and he muttered, “S’fucking cold.”

Dean apologised under his breath and tentatively moved the finger inside him, drawing it in and out as Dean pushed back onto it a little harder. The sensation was so strange; feeling the other Dean’s inner walls and at the same time, the hard flesh of Cas’ dick. He watched his finger disappear in and out of the body of his future self for what seemed like minutes, crouching to stare, before the other Dean reached back for him with a clutching hand and said, in a strained voice, “I can take another. Hurry the fuck up.”

He was so terse, not unlike Dean himself, but unlike him when he was  _happy._ With his face close to Cas’ he’d looked different; looser, softer, careless; but in speaking to Dean his voice was so harsh that Dean marvelled at him agreeing to this at all.

He slipped another finger inside him and the other Dean’s body simply took it; he hadn’t been lying about doing this before. Dean scissored his fingers inside him as best he could, but even that seemed to take too long, and it was moments before the other Dean pushed down on Cas’ cock and Dean’s fingers, stilling, and reached for Dean’s shoulder to stop his movements, too.

“Now,” he murmured, breathless, and Dean looked up at him, but the other Dean was still turned away.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” he spat, and Dean withdrew his fingers, trying to ignore the hitch of breath above him.

“Will I hurt you?”  _Us?_ He didn’t fucking know what the terminology was. He might be the first person to ever do this; the terminology probably didn’t  _exist,_ and  _Back to the Future_ could only help so much.

“Don’t mind if you do, it’s fine.”

Dean hesitated; toyed with the idea of objecting; but the other Dean was moving again, still at that slow pace, still just to keep Cas inside him and hard, and Dean worried that if he fucked around any longer he’d miss out on the whole thing. He said “Okay, okay,” mostly to himself, and slid a hand half-unconsciously up the other Dean’s spine, surprised to feel him lean warmly into the touch as he did. Cas, from the head of the bed, was murmuring encouragement – but as Dean fisted his own cock, coating it in lube; as he shuffled closer to them both so he was pressed flat to the other Dean’s back; he couldn’t hear anything beyond his own stuttering heartbeat, beyond the pump of blood; his whole body poised, nerves flayed.

The first push of his dick inside his future self – the other Dean leaning forward slightly to more easily take him – was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Cas hissed, joyful, but sounded far, far away compared to the noise of the other Dean’s hitched breathing. They were so close that Dean had his forehead pressed tight against the other Dean’s shoulderblade, and as he inched inside the furious heat of him his whole mind seemed to inch into blankness with it, everything he could feel zeroing in on how Dean’s body swallowed him greedily after that initial push.

“Are you okay?” he mumbled, finally, when he was as far inside as he could go, and he felt  _and_  heard the other Dean’s mumbled, rapturous “Yeah.” Cas, sounding less distant now his heartbeat wasn’t quite so fucking frantic, laughed.

“Move,” Cas muttered softly, and Dean had almost forgotten there was more to this than being inside that stifling heat; he wrapped his arms around the other Dean’s stomach and moved them cautiously over his skin, noting the differences between them; this Dean was less soft, more scarred, but the hair above his crotch felt the same; the heft of his dick in Dean’s hand was familiar. He stroked him, root to tip, half-experimentally as he started to move, and was rewarded with a groan.

The rhythm was impossible to keep in time – had he ever imagined this, Dean might have pictured himself and Cas pushing in and out at the same time, but the reality was much baser, much more frantic once it began; after holding off for so long his two partners took to it with abandon, and Dean tried valiantly to match their pace but settled instead for letting the other Dean dictate. He drew up, he pushed down again, grunting softly every time, and from where Dean was – cheek pressed flush against the other Dean’s skin – he couldn’t see Cas, but he could hear him, muttering, a litany of filth and praise so intimate it made his skin prickle. And his own voice, above him, much less lyrical, huffing, “God _damn,”_ as he worked himself, speared on both of them; Dean holding onto his hip with one hand, and stroking his cock with the other.

The other Dean finished before the both of them, body clenching around them and making Dean open his mouth wide against his skin; it pressed their two lengths together, tight, and he and Cas drew breath sharply in tandem as the other Dean came all over Dean’s fingers, muscles of his back jumping in spasm, come warm and wet and dripping over his wrist.

Dean closed his eyes and kissed the other Dean’s shoulderblade on impulse, stroking him carefully through his orgasm as he tentatively started to move again. He was choked – his heart was in his throat, tears gathering in his eyes from the sheer strain of feeling every muscle in that familiar body tense before its release, from feeling the bump and slide of Cas’ cock against his own.

 He was barely breathing at all as the other Dean moved, and almost sobbed against his skin when he came, releasing the air in his lungs with a frantic gasp, gripping tighter against the other Dean’s hip as he shook and pulsed inside him.

He slipped out then, too slick, too exhausted, cock softening wetly against the other Dean’s lower back instead. Still, the other Dean moved, murmuring to Cas, “Come on, babe, give it up, give it up for me,” and Cas laughed and pushed his hips up, and hiccupped and came.

Dean clutched tight to the other Dean’s back, unwilling somehow to let go, though he knew it was essentially over; his skin cooling, he brushed his wet hand over the other Dean’s stomach; over the crease of his thighs, up again to dip his thumb into his navel. He pulled back when the other Dean shifted uncomfortably and moved to let Cas slip out of him again. Dean sat on his heels then, just looking.

Cas sighed indulgently and lay staring at the ceiling, laughing. He lifted his foot and pushed at Dean with the instep. “S’a shame you’re not staying longer,” he said, “We could practise that and get  _really_ good.” He laughed, but Dean didn’t join him; he was watching his other self, the way he pulled himself off of Cas’ hips, never once looking back at Dean. On impulse, he fumbled forward and caught him – first his shoulder, then his arm, then his hand. He barely registered Cas pulling his leg from between them and moving slightly away; he was focused on how it felt to hold the hand of the man he might someday become.

“Dean,” he said quietly, knowing nothing else to call him by, and the other Dean looked startled by his attention.

In a move that surprised even himself, he walked over to his other self on his knees, drew level with him, and wrapped his free arm around his middle, the other hand laced tightly with the other Dean’s own. He pulled him close, squeezing, and then pulled back to kiss him before the other Dean could object, obsessed with how it might feel, how he might taste; what it would be like to press his own lips to his own.

He kissed him and felt, or thought he felt, the other Dean kiss back – but he was gone just as quickly, pulling away, eyes heavy with fear and trepidation.

Dean drew away from him with reluctance; his body was a strange, tacky mess of hot and cold, and he lay down beside Cas when he was bade, trying not to look too hard at the man who followed suit.

Himself, in five years, and it was strange but he was more unsettled by that brief, soft kiss than anything else that had taken place.

He lay at Castiel’s side, and felt dimly the sensation of Cas’ fingers running through his hair; he lifted his hand, searching for somewhere to touch down, and finally let it rest against the soft skin between Castiel’s ribs, the hair there a soft tickle against his fingers. He peered across Cas’ chest and saw him doing the same to the other Dean on the other side, a mirror image.

There was a moment, indefinable, where he and the other Dean made eye contact – and the other Dean’s jaw tightened, lips pressing into a thin line, before he slid his hand across Cas’ chest between them, and met Dean’s hand with his own. 


End file.
